The Outsiders- Ani (Vanilla) Curtis Greaser Girl
by Vanilla Ani Curtis
Summary: As I walked down the street, memories filled my mind.Last time I was here, all us greasers were here together.No one was gone, dead, or worse, somehow and before that I was being cornered by three soc. What happened to those times?Why couldn't things be the way they should be.Where we were together. Where no one could hurt us. And tonight, that was going to be shown. Greaser style


**Author's Note: Hi peoples, this is my first fan fiction and I really want to say something before the story- NO HARSH REVIEWS! I need tips because I'm also a little new to writing ^^' So... ENJOY!**

I stepped out of the burger place, into the outside world. The sky was covered with dark clouds that probably meant rain. I hate rain. Just can't stand it for some reason. Maybe it's how it makes everything so soggy, slippery, and how it makes you sick if you stand in it and stuff. I dunno, I guess I'm just weird that way, where I have these things that I can't stand. I know I'm not the only one like that though, because my brother, who's name will go on a mystery to you because he is my mortal enemy.

Now, before I get ahead of myself, your probably wondering who I am exactly, what I look like, all that mess. My name is Lillian, Ani for those who just know me, and Vanilla to my closest pals (I like to call my friends that- it sound better than 'friends' or 'buds') because I have blonde-white hair and sort of creamy brown eyes. But with all the dirt in my hair, might as well be called Ani, considering it don't look to vanilla colored. I always wear jeans, always, no matter what brand or color, some sort of t-shirt and possibly a leather or jean jacket. My shoes are so worn, I ain't got no clue as to what they are, but I am pretty sure they were once tennis shoes that were white, and are now brownish-black with dirt, mud, and maybe a little blood that sort of dried to wear it won't come off.

I began to walk 'cross the street, which wasn't to bad, seein' how many people like their fancy auto's and stuff. But I chose to walk, even if I was a fifteen year old greaser who could get jumped at any time, because I was tough like that. Most girls ain't got the guts to do what I do around this town, and I don't care. I don't care if those Soc girls or guys look at me like greasy trash, because maybe I am greasy trash. Don't care if I don't got no money, don't got an auto, or anything like that. I live with Ponyboy, Sodapop, and Darry Curtis, the three Curtis brothers. I at least got that.

I was headed towards the east side when, outta no where, about three Socs come up, two guys and a little lady, trying their best to circle me. I slouched a bit, blowin' hair out of my eyes, acting cool as if they didn't scare me, but the dead truth is, I was terrified because I had seen those two guys before when Dally, another greaser, had tried to pick up the lady, and man did Dally beat 'em up. They definitely had some bruises, I'll tell you that. The dusty blond looked me up and down as if I were some treat that he didn't know was poisonous or not.

"Oh look-ie here," he began, slyly. " Looks like the greaser got them a good lookin' girl to join their gang." The other one snickered, while the black haired girl just rolled her eyes. "So, _greaser_, why don't you come with us to the west side, have a few drinks-"

"Oh look-ie here, we got our selves a dumb blond who thinks I'm gonna go with a _soc._" I shot at the sly one. "Get lost, West-sider!" Little did I know, the other guy was still there. He pushed me against the brick wall that led into the drugstore and blew smoke from the cigarette he had just lit.

"Now, now, darlin', don't you go lookin for trouble with us." he growled, slowly, as the smoke hit my face. I wanted to spit at him so bad, but I held back, and slouched a little more, tryin my best to look tough. I may be a girl, but that still matters, especially to greasers! "And you can either come with us, or, maybe you need to know what a _real _cuttin' is." A cuttin', huh? That normally meant that someone would take a knife to either your face or your throat, and with Socs, most didn't live to long to tell what it was really like, getting a cutting n' all.

I made some sort of noise with my throat, and tilted my head up. "I'd rather take a cuttin' from my own _kin_ than go with you, you stupid, Soc drunkers." Uh-oh... Now I'd done it...


End file.
